


Masks

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: The Citadel's yearly masked ball is a grand event, where one dances and flirts with strangers who could be just about anyone. Ignis has been preparing for this year's ball for a long time, and is determined to make the most of all the evening may bring.





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Today I hit 5000 kudos in total on AO3, which feels like a landmark worth celebrating a little. So this very self-indulgent fic is posted as a thank-you to you, the FFXV fandom, who've been so lovely and encouraging to me this year. <3

The masked ball is a Citadel tradition, for the year's end. It's a magnificent event, every year even grander than the last. And every staff member in the Citadel is invited -- even the staff _working_ the ball only work half-shifts, so they can attend at least part of the evening. They mingle with nobility and celebrities, all hidden behind their elaborate disguises, and there is dancing and celebration and flirtation. It's where one can go, and for one night, live out something like a fantasy.

For someone like Ignis, whose everyday life is, frankly, a tedious series of tedious tasks, it's an escape.

Ignis's first ball had been nerve-wracking. He'd been a lowly trainee clerk in the records department, and he'd been a little surprised to find out that even he qualified as worthy of an invitation. In a black military uniform from a century ago and a mask fashioned mostly from owl feathers, he'd felt lost in the throngs of costumes far more dazzling than his own. Dancing with strangers who could be just about _anyone_ meant that his pulse raced at every new offer. 

At midnight, as per the custom for anyone single or willing to pretend to be, he pressed a kiss to the lips of the dancing partner he was with -- a man, which was thrilling enough a novelty for Ignis at the time, and a man who seemed intriguingly muscular beneath his embroidered surcoat.

Like many of the newly-formed couples, they'd gone for a stroll in the gardens. In the shadow of a gazebo, his partner had lifted Ignis's mask and claimed another string of kisses before removing his own mask. From there they'd gone to his partner's rooms in the Citadel, and thence into bed, and in the morning Ignis had slipped his mask back on and wandered back through the halls of the Citadel to marvel at his own boldness and fortune.

Mask-romances were only for the night, or so said the tradition, no matter how much enjoyment was wrung from that single night. Ignis refrains from sharing names when his office gossips about their own conquests, and keeps the memory as a warm ember of experience in his mind.

This year, Ignis intends to feel like he belongs at the ball. The vibrant blue jacket hanging in his room is weighed down with intricate knotted braidwork and gems. The trousers are cut tightly, but allow just enough movement for graceful dancing. The accompanying mask is in soft blue silk, with sparkling gems that match the jacket. The whole ensemble is rented, from one of the finest stores in Insomnia, and cost Ignis far more than he should have spent for one night's dancing. When he tries it all on, for the first time since the rental store, he marvels at himself for a moment. He looks like a peacock, but an exotic and glamorous one, and he rather likes that.

The ballroom is packed with people when Ignis enters, and it takes very little time before he's invited onto the dancefloor. Last time, he'd danced competently. This time, he's practised, taking a series of classes with some of his workmates, and knows how to dance a little more flamboyantly, dipping and spinning his partners and allowing them to do the same to him. 

The evening proceeds in wonderful fashion, moving in harmony, changing partners with every dance. But it's tiring, too. Eventually he gently declines an invitation for another dance from a woman with elaborate golden filigree covering most of her face, and retreats to the drinks table for the third time.

"Can I mark your dancing card?"

Ignis turns, champagne glass in hand. A slim dark-haired man dressed in simple black tailored clothing from throat to ankle is smiling at him, lips curving beneath the black domino-style mask adhered to his face. Ignis feels an immediate tug of interest. In the midst of all this gaudy finery, a man willing to forgo adornment. "I'm afraid I neglected to bring one."

The man's smile lifts upwards at one side. "Shame. A guy who moves the way you do must have a queue of people waiting to dance with you. Where do I go to tag on the end?"

"I don't take reservations," Ignis says, flattered, and he offers the man the glass he's picked up. "I can give you the next dance, if you'll allow me a chance to wet my throat."

"I'll take that deal."

Ignis gets himself a glass, and raises it, tilting it just a little towards the black-clad man. "To the masked ball, and whatever and whomever it may bring you."

It's the traditional toast. His dancing partner clinks their glasses together, takes a sip from his glass, and then clears his throat. "This is my first time here," he says, and laughs. It's a soft, throaty noise, and manages to express self-deprecation and shyness as well as humour. "I didn't know it'd be quite so… full."

"I felt the same way last year," Ignis admits. "It's freeing, I think, though. So many people, one can't help but be mysterious and anonymous."

"I guess so." The man sips his glass, and smiles over the rim at Ignis. "You're certainly quite the mystery yourself. Tall, charming, accented. Should I know who you are, I wonder?"

"I'm nobody of consequence."

The man's smile does that one-sided lift again. "Tsk. Everyone here's someone of consequence tonight. Isn't that the idea?"

"I suppose it is. And you are--"

"Oh, I'm an enigma. Look at me. Enigmatic in my boring outfit."

Ignis takes a step towards the man, since there are other people approaching the table and it's a good excuse to close the distance. "I dress like this to make up for the blandness beneath. Perhaps it's merely that you've inverted the equation?"

That gets him another smile, and another raise of the glass. "Maybe. Come on, drink up, let me trip all over your feet out there."

Ignis, feeling rakish, tips his head back and lets the champagne slide down his throat in one long motion. When he tips his head back down, the man's smile is halfway to a smirk, and he sets down his own still half-full glass and holds his hand out towards Ignis invitingly.

Despite his comments about tripping up, the man is an elegant dancer, and the fast dance they join allows them both to show off a little -- underarm twirls, spins that press their thighs tightly against each other, and low dips. The man is shorter than Ignis by several inches, but that's not enough alone to credit for the way Ignis's hair nearly skims the floor -- it's a calculated move to make Ignis's heart skip in his chest, and to make him clutch at the man's shoulder when he's upright again.

"You move like a gymnast," the man says, and twirls Ignis out to the end of his arm and then pulls him back in again. "Another mystery."

Ignis blesses his weapons-master for demanding acrobatics from him. "I am flexible," he agrees, trying to make his voice a purr. "It's an asset."

"I bet it is."

The dance reaches a crescendo, and ends with graceful bows to each other. Ignis can see a woman in grey approaching, quite probably to claim his partner, and he steps in quickly to take the man's hands again. "Another?"

"Oh, yes, please."

In fact, they dance several more dances in a row. A graceful formal ballroom dance, where they glide through the steps as if they've rehearsed it for days, then two faster more relaxed dances, and finally a slower dance that is -- Ignis thinks -- meant for the established couples to dance together, cheek to cheek and chest to chest, and in movements almost a waltz -- were they not in such a closed, intimate position.

"It's nearly midnight," the man murmurs in Ignis's ear. "Please don't disappear on me."

"I've no intention of allowing you to kiss anyone else," Ignis admits.

The man's hands tighten where they touch Ignis at waist and fingers. "Can I ask you to come for a walk with me?"

"In the gardens? Of course."

It's a good notion, Ignis thinks, his head already half-clouded with anticipation. They can find a little more privacy there.

The garden has many shadowy nooks, and it isn't hard to find one still empty. As the chimes ring out for the new year, Ignis tilts his head down, and finally meets the lips of his intriguing enigma, and oh. Oh. There's yet more chemistry than he expected, the open-mouthed kiss sending a keen yearning arcing through him and making him pull the man flush against himself.

"I've a room, here," he says, urgently, after several more kisses. "Would you--"

" _Please_."

Ignis is giddy with arousal by the time they make it to his room in the assigned quarters for Records staff. As he closes the door behind him, the man reaches for his shirt, pulls him in for a surprisingly gentle kiss, and then nudges with his nose at the edge of Ignis's mask.

The knot isn't complex, but Ignis's hands feel clumsy as he unties the mask and reveals himself. The man reaches up a hand, and draws his finger down Ignis's nose.

"You're so handsome," he says, evidently surprised.

Ignis lifts a hand to the edge of the man's domino mask.

"Wait," the man says, and he takes a step back. "It's glued on. I don't have the solvent on me. Look--" and he pulls at the edge of it, so Ignis can see how the skin moves. It's stuck tight.

"I don't mind," Ignis says, truthfully. Right now, it's less important he see under the mask than that he is permitted to kiss this man again. "If I can have a name?"

A lopsided smile. "Caelis."

"I'm Ignis. I work in Records, here in the Citadel." Ignis drops his mask onto the floor. "Come to bed with me?"

There's a distinct thrill to it, undressing a man whose face is half-obscured. Caelis's black clothes are easy to unfasten, but once he's freed from them he takes his time unhooking each button on Ignis's jacket, all the while kissing Ignis's throat and collarbone, until Ignis is jelly-boned and achingly hard.

The bed is near enough to pull Caelis onto, and then they smooch for a long, long time, still in their underwear, hands slow on each other's torsos.

"I'd like you in me," Caelis says, and it comes out in one breathless sentence, like he's a little nervous about it. "Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay."

More slow kissing, and then Ignis has to dig in his bedside cabinet for condoms and lube while Caelis peels off his own undershorts and drops them to the side. His nerves are oddly inspiring to Ignis -- it's clear that Caelis is uncertain what to expect of bedding a stranger, but Ignis is going to make this as memorable and _good_ as Ignis felt about his experiences last year. And Caelis is _beautiful_. His skin is silky to the touch, and he pulls his knees up obligingly when Ignis nudges them, and when Ignis opens him up he relaxes with pleasing speed around Ignis's fingers.

It's _so_ good, so good, sinking into him, as Caelis's legs curl around Ignis's thighs, as Caelis lets out a long and delighted-sounding sigh. Ignis seeks out his lips, kisses Caelis with each thrust, until Caelis pulls his head away. "Can't breathe," he laughs, and digs his fingers into Ignis's ribs in a way that makes Ignis tense up from ticklishness. "Need air."

"Then you need to be less kissable," Ignis manages, and he feels Caelis's laugh ripple through and around him, wonderfully. "Is this good?"

"Perfect."

Ignis reaches for Caelis's hands, tries to slow down the pace of his thrusts. Sex won't last forever, but Ignis is damned if he'll let it be over in a few short minutes, not when every motion rewards him with moans and sighs and this beautiful man coming undone at his touch. 

"That's good," Caelis says, his voice half-slurred, when Ignis, needing _something_ to do with his mouth, nibbles at the slim white neck that's so temptingly close. "I bruise easy--"

Is that a warning? "Should I stop?"

"Hell no."

By the time Caelis orgasms, his hand moving on himself in steady pulls that Ignis watches between nips and bites, there is a veritable constellation of bruises over his collarbone and lower neck. Ignis feels Caelis pull him closer after, hears Caelis whisper 'come, please, I want--hnnn, please Ignis--" and then everything spills from him, hard enough to blank his vision for a heartbeat.

He lies there, aware his full weight is on Caelis's chest but unable to summon the strength to move.

"Ignis," Caelis whispers, and places tiny kisses along his jawline.

Ignis finds the strength to push himself up onto his elbows. He stares at Caelis, at the domino mask, and thinks, _I don't even care what you look like under there_. Not that Caelis can possibly be ugly. Ignis can see enough of his face to know that, at least. "Stay the night," he says. "Please?"

Caelis tugs at the corner of his mask again. "Well--"

"Oh." Of course. "Sorry. You must want to get that thing off--"

"No, no, it'll come off in a few hours anyway. Skin oil and stuff, it eats the glue, apparently." Caelis drops his hand. "And I don't think I can walk after that, haha. I'll stay."

Ignis grins, and then Caelis helps him sit up, and then they take turns in Ignis's little bathroom so they can clean up. Caelis accepts the offer of Ignis's toothbrush, and Ignis laughs -- it's hilarious seeing a masked man brushing his teeth. That gets him playful poking and shoving in response, and then they return to lie tangled contentedly in Ignis's bed. Caelis pillows his head on Ignis's chest, and his hair smells like citrus, and he's warm and feels lovely against Ignis's side.

When Ignis next stirs, it's still dark outside, and Caelis's arm has just slid -- artlessly, sweetly -- around Ignis's waist. Caelis is cuddled up to Ignis's back, his head pressed into Ignis's shoulder.

Ignis shifts his weight, feels Caelis lift his head in response. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Mm. I don't mind." Ignis stretches out a little, pushes backwards. Caelis is hard against his ass, thrillingly. "And I see you're _very_ awake."

"Oh, I didn't mean to--"

"I could be persuaded to help with that," Ignis continues, and presses himself deliberately backwards. "If you'd like."

Caelis makes a pleased noise, and his hand skims down Ignis's belly, to where Ignis is starting to firm up too. "Yeah? How?"

Ignis turns over.

Jerking off another man isn't in fact something Ignis has done much of -- his previous experiences have jumped over that stage -- but he soon decides that it has definite advantages of its own. He can match his pace easily to Caelis's, and he can snatch kisses, and he can watch Caelis's face and hear Caelis's soft sharp gasps. It's easy to ascertain which caress induces the most pleasure, allowing Ignis to finesse his technique. Caelis buries his masked face in Ignis's shoulder as he comes, and Ignis watches as Caelis's back shudders with each spasm, and then Ignis abandons all shame and self-consciousness and lets Caelis very determinedly push Ignis to his own noisy climax.

Clean-up is more of a chore, now, when they're both tired, but Caelis cuddles up to him again afterwards. It's not long until Caelis is asleep again. Ignis spends a while lying awake, stroking Caelis's hair and skin and feeling oddly blessed to be permitted such acts.

It's past dawn -- at least -- when Ignis wakes up next. His throat aches with dryness. Caelis has turned over in his sleep, is sprawled face-down on Ignis's pillow, his bum still pressed warmingly into Ignis's hip. Ignis gets out of bed and fetches himself a glass of water, resenting the necessity of leaving their warm nest. He drinks, leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchenette in his living room. Mask-romances are only for a night, he thinks. He can't ask to hold onto Caelis longer than that.

Well. No. He _shouldn't_ , in theory. But he thinks he will, custom be damned, and if Caelis declines then at least Ignis won't regret the question unasked. He glances at the clock, and is startled to realise it's past nine in the morning. Nobody in Records works the day after the ball, but he still doesn't know what Caelis does. Probably he should wake him up, just in case.

When he goes back into his room, he sees an unfamiliar shape on the floor by the bed. He picks it up, and realises immediately: Caelis's domino mask. It looks expensive, precisely molded to fit the curves of his face, and made of a soft light leather. Ignis can feel traces of the glue residue around the edges of it.

Hm.

"Caelis," he says, gently, and puts his lamp on to the lowest setting. "It's nine-oh-five in the morning."

Caelis rolls over, his arm over his face as if to block any possible light. His neck is daubed with dark blotches, and it makes Ignis feel _smug_. "Mmnghh."

"...would you like some coffee?"

Ignis can make out one eye, blinking in the shadow of Caelis's arm, as Caelis replies. "Please."

He returns to his little kitchen. Coffee. He makes it black, and then works on a sudden hunch and adds cream and a little sugar to Caelis's. Caelis is sweet and creamy-skinned. It seems right.

Caelis's arm is still thrown across his face when Ignis goes back in.

"I, uh," says Caelis. "I'm not good at mornings. Hi."

"Coffee. Though you might have to risk me looking at you, if you want to drink it."

A pause. "Um."

"I don't mind what you look like, if that helps."

"...alright." Caelis, in one motion, sits up and drops his arm.

Ignis looks. Caelis's face is oval, with a smallish mouth and nose, but that was evident last night too. His eyes are more pronouncedly almond-shaped than Ignis had expected, and what Ignis had taken for a trick of the shadows of the mask was in fact a genuine deepness of blue to his eyes. His hair is tumbled messily in front of his face, but all in all: Caelis is a very beautiful man, even with the expression of uncertainty he's wearing now.

"There you are," Ignis says, and smiles. "Here. Your coffee."

Caelis pushed himself up the bed, leaning back against the pillows, his expression now disbelieving. "That's all you have to say?"

Ignis sits on the edge of the bed. "If you expect me to recognise you, I'm sorry. I'm terrible with faces -- near enough faceblind, in fact -- so if you're famous, you'll have to give me more of a hint."

"Oh."

There's a pause, and Ignis swings his feet up, and settles himself back into the bed next to Caelis. He's never heard of any Caelis, but then, he's not much of a consumer of popular culture. " _Are_ you famous?"

"Yeah, I am." Caelis takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles. "It's okay, it's not exactly hurting my ego that you don't know my face. It's kind of nice. And this coffee is _really_ nice."

"There's breakfast, too. I've pastries, or I can toast some crumpets if you'd prefer."

Caelis rests his weight against Ignis's arm. "Crumpets? I'm in actual heaven here. Hot guy, hot coffee, hot… bread products."

Ignis shifts, slides his arm across and down so it's around Caelis's waist. There are two ridges of skin on Caelis's back that his hand skims over, scar tissue that's a harsh contrast to the soft smoothness everywhere else. Ignis wonders how they got there. Another mystery from this mysterious man.

"I'm really glad you asked me to stay longer," Caelis says then, his voice soft and quiet. "You've made this whole night so… so special. Thank you."

"I feel quite honoured myself."

Caelis makes a pleased little noise, deep in his throat. "I… okay, so I know I'm not supposed to ask, but I'd really like to see you again, and if you're okay with that--"

"Oh, thank heavens. I was planning on asking you myself."

"Right." Caelis lifts his head. "I'm taking that as a provisional yes, then."

"It's not dependent on anything, Caelis."

"No, no… look, you really might change your mind. I'm… um. I'm _really_ famous, okay? Caelis isn't my name, I just made it up."

That sends a little stab of disappointment through Ignis, that he's not been trusted enough to be told the truth. "Are you going to tell me who you are?"

"Y…. yeah, I am." 'Caelis' heaves in a deep breath. "I'm Noctis."

It's a familiar name, of course, but also a relatively common one, which means it's no help at all. Ignis searches his memory, and tries to map it against his recollections of celebrities with the name. There are singers and actors and writers, though none seem to match up correctly. Ignis draws a blank. "I… I'm sorry, I don't think I know you."

"Noctis Lucis Caelum."

_Oh._

It's almost a reflex, as soon as the realisation sinks in and the horror ignites in his stomach. Ignis scrambles out of the bed, hurriedly, pushes his coffee to one side, bends his knees, bows his head. He opens his mouth, but what could possibly be adequate to say, to repair this -- to bed the _prince_ so cavalierly, to kiss him and caress him and _mark_ him and then not even to recognise him when he gives his name.

"Please don't do that," Ignis hears, and then the prince of Lucis is on the floor beside him, his hands lifting Ignis's face so their eyes meet. "Ignis, don't. This is what I didn't want."

"But--"

"I _like_ you. Please. Come back to bed."

Stiff with dismay, Ignis lets himself be hauled back onto the bed, back to where Ignis was sitting before. The prince hands up Ignis's coffee, sits next to him, pulls the covers up to their waists.

Ignis stares into his coffee.

"I'm guessing," the prince says, quietly, "that your provisional yes is now a no."

"You can't--" and then Ignis clears his throat. "Your highness. I'm a commoner, a mere clerk."

"Right, and you think that means we can't be together. You know, my mother was a commoner," the prince says. "It's not like it's not allowed."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Ignis, I'm _encouraged_ to have a life as normal as possible. I go to university. I work in a cafe. I… I sneak into the masked ball and dance with handsome men, ones who kiss me until I can't breathe and offer me hot crumpets in the morning and…"

Ignis puts his coffee down, and wishes his glasses weren't in their case on the coffee table in the other room. "Your highness--"

"Please, _please_ call me Noctis, please."

"Noctis." Ignis takes in a breath, tries to collect himself, and then the earlier words register. "You work in a cafe?"

"Sure. Part-time. In the kitchen. I cook -- I'm not fast, but I get there." The prince -- Noctis -- reaches out for his own coffee, leans back against the pillows. "My boss yells at me for being slow."

Someone scolds the prince of Lucis for being slow at cooking. Ignis can feel himself smiling at the thought.

"Me dating a clerk wouldn't be a problem for anyone. And I meant what I said. I really want to see you again."

Ignis nods, trying to process this. The prince's thigh is pressed against Ignis's own under the blanket.

"So, um--"

"I'm considering," Ignis says, because the question is predictable. "Are you certain about this?"

"Am I certain I want to see you again? Hell yes."

Ignis takes a gulp of his coffee, and then sets it down on the coffee table. "Then I offer a yes, and accept your offer on a provisional basis."

"...alright, I'll bite, what's the provision?"

"I'll tell you later." Ignis pushes back the covers. "Stay here. I'll fetch you some breakfast."

The crumpets take a few minutes under Ignis's grill, minutes which he spends in setting out the tray of food. Butter. Jam. Honey. And then he leans his weight against the counter edge, and lets the breath held in his chest wheeze out of him.

He danced with the prince of Lucis. Kissed the prince of Lucis. Slept with the prince of Lucis. And now it seems he's _dating_ the prince of Lucis. Ignis is so far out of his depth that it's almost reassuring. He has no idea how to act, how to proceed with any of this -- but there's no way anybody could expect him to know what he should do in this circumstance. 

And if Noctis says he's expected to live normally, then dating Ignis might not be beyond the pale after all. So Ignis will continue as if, well, as if Noctis is simply Caelis. If Ignis needs to adjust his behaviour then he's certain he will be informed of it very swiftly.

Yes. It might not be the most watertight logic, Ignis grants, but it permits him to do as he actually wants, and that's all he cares about right now.

Noctis is sitting up in bed, fiddling with his phone, when Ignis re-enters his bedroom.

"Wow, you really meant it," Noctis says, his smile wide, his eyes on the tray in Ignis's hands, and then his eyes snap upwards and his expression shifts into surprise. "You wear glasses?"

"I do, ordinarily."

"They really suit you." Noctis pats the bed next to him. "Get over here."

They kiss again briefly, as Ignis carefully balances the tray on the bed, and then Noctis is making delighted noises over the breakfast. They wind up feeding each other chunks of the crumpets, butter threatening to drip onto their hands. When it finally does, Noctis tilts his head, his eyes fixed on Ignis's, and chases it down Ignis's palm and wrist with his tongue.

Knowing who he's in bed with doesn't seem to make a difference to Ignis's libido, Noctis's mouth on his skin spurring instant arousal. He curves his fingertips beneath Noctis's chin, coaxes him upwards so they can kiss again.

The tray is shoved to the other side of the bed, along with the bedcovers and Ignis's hastily-discarded glasses, and then Noctis is balanced on his knees, hands on Ignis's shoulders, so that Ignis has to crane his neck upwards into the kiss. His hands slide down, over the scars on Noctis's back, and he worries for a moment that the contact might hurt Noctis, but since Noctis doesn't even react he soon forgets about it.

"What's the provision?" Noctis asks, pulling away suddenly, leaving Ignis openmouthed, his lips tingling from the sudden absence.

"Mm?"

"You said provisionally."

It takes a few moments of genuine confusion before Ignis's brain surfaces from the fog of desire and connects the question to his earlier statement. "That you don't tell people how you met me. That you let me take you out for a proper date or two."

"Ah." Noctis laughs, and it sounds awkward. "You're ashamed of falling into bed with me so fast."

"No, but it _is_ considered bad luck to extend a--"

"Mask romance?" Noctis says, and he moves, puts one knee between Ignis's thighs, grins down at Ignis, "Alright. It'll get old fast if people keep telling us it's jinxed, you're right. You work in the Citadel, so maybe I just ran into you somewhere."

Ignis's hands are on Noctis's waist, and he slides them downwards and back a little, and flexes his fingers so Noctis's hips are pushed towards him. "We can work out the story another time."

"Mm." Noctis cups Ignis's face, kisses him hard. "Do you have work today?"

"No. You?"

"In a bit. I gotta meeting with Cor." At whatever expression crosses Ignis's face at that name, Noctis smiles. "The marshall."

"I… yes, I know Cor."

Noctis's eyes narrow, and he inspects Ignis's face for a moment, and then raises an eyebrow. " _...okaaaaay,_ what's the story?"

"He, ah… last year's ball, we, ah…" Ignis trails off, embarrassed.

"Oh, oh, you're _kidding._ You banged Cor? You banged Cor."

Ignis nods, Noctis tips back his head and roars out a genuine laugh, and then he sits down, still straddling Ignis's thigh.

"That's amazing. I didn't know that was possible. He's so uptight."

Ignis relaxes, relieved -- Noctis thinks it's funny, rather than being appalled. "He wasn't uptight at the ball."

Noctis grins. "I can't believe it. Cor had sex once."

"Twice."

"Holy _shit_."

"And I won't give any more detail than that," Ignis adds, quickly. "Not even to you."

"Fine, fine." Noctis lets out another little chuckle. "You banged Cor. Lucky him, I say."

Ignis's hands are on Noctis's hips, still, and he tightens his fingers. "You think so? Personally, I'd like a chance to outperform that night."

"Mm, that can definitely be arranged."

They kiss, and Ignis can feel the exact point at which Noctis loses his self-control and he starts laughing again. He lets Noctis come up for air, ignores the giggling sounds, and nips instead at Noctis's already-mottled neck and then down, little toothy bites at collarbone and then nipple until the laughs become breathless, transition from giggles to gasps, and Noctis's hips start to move in mindless little thrusts in time with his noises.

A garbled string of almost-words is spoken above his head, and he stops, and waits for Noctis to repeat them.

"Fuck, Ignis, I need--" and Noctis shivers through his whole body, as Ignis nips at his collarbone again. "Can I be on top?"

For a moment Ignis thinks Noctis means he wants to penetrate Ignis -- which Ignis is, tentatively, willing to try -- but then Noctis grabs at Ignis's hands, pushes them down his bum, presses Ignis's fingers inwards a little and the meaning becomes clear. Noctis, on top, like this, with Ignis inside him.

Noctis needs no preparation, or so it feels to Ignis from how easily his slicked fingers press inside, and so it's a matter of only a half-minute or so before Noctis is sinking down onto him, his expression that of fierce concentration. Ignis holds Noctis as close as he can by the waist, angling his hips to allow it, so their foreheads are touching as Noctis rises and sinks at his own pace, so their bodies slide against each other with each slow grind of Noctis's ass onto him. He whispers 'yes' and 'perfect' when Noctis manages to ask questions about if this is good for _him_ , kisses Noctis until he laughs again and protests that he needs to breathe. 

It's a surprise when Noctis reaches sideways, for the lube, but then Ignis helps, slicks Noctis's cock, wraps one hand around it and tries to match Noctis's rhythm. It's even better now, the way Noctis's moans keep breaking, becoming more urgent, the tensed and pleading expression on his face, and it takes every ounce of Ignis's self-control for him to last until Noctis -- after what seems like an aeon -- cries out his release and Ignis can attain his own.

It is a mutual moment of bliss between them, and winds down into their bodies leaning against each other, Noctis's forehead pressing down hard into Ignis's forehead, and Ignis tipping his head to one side to rest his cheek against Noctis's ear.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, because it's true.

A little chuckle, and then Noctis squirms on his lap. "Mm. But a bit gross right now. Gonna go, uh--"

"Of course."

Ignis retrieves his glasses from the tangled sprawl of bedclothes, discovers with some relief that the tray is still upright and that the covers haven't gotten soiled with the remains of their breakfast, and then Noctis is back, in the doorway, his eyes wide with amusement and vague concern.

"I know I mark easily, but holy shit."

The melange of colours spans from just under his jaw down across his collarbones, back to behind his ears and down onto his chest. Ignis tries to summon up a shred of remorse, and fails. "You seemed to enjoy it."

"I've gotta go see Cor like this." Noctis lifts a hand to the highest mark, right under the juncture of his jaw on the left-hand side. "I've gotta walk through the Citadel like this. Oops."

"I can lend you a scarf?"

Noctis snorts, and drops his hand. "Thanks. Can I borrow your mask to get back to my room? Mine won't stay on without glue."

"I'll need to return mine tomorrow, it's rented -- but hold on." Ignis crosses to his bookshelf, opens the box that's on top, extracts the old mask in there. The feathers are a little forlorn-looking from age, but it ties on with simple cords, and it should allow Noctis a modicum of anonymity when leaving Ignis's room. He holds it out to Noctis.

"Huh." Noctis pulls it gently out of his grip. "Last year's?"

"Yes."

"You kissed Cor in this."

Oh. "Well, yes."

Noctis grins. "Can I wear it when I go see him?"

"He probably won't even recognise it."

"Pfft, he will." Noctis turns it over, lifts it to his own face as if testing the fit. The creamy feathers blend in with the colour of Noctis's own skin very well around the nose and cheeks, and the effect makes him look rather more exotic than Ignis had looked in the same mask. "Please? I won't let on I know he was with you last year."

Ignis sighs. "If it amuses you, by all means."

Noctis grins, and lowers the mask. "Anything to get a reaction out of him other than, yes, Noctis, you need to train more, and have you considered another weapons discipline, and make sure you're always prepared for a fight." Noctis -- very carefully -- sets the mask beside him on the bed. "Good to know even the Immortal takes a night off once a year."

That triggers a thought, and Ignis turns it over in his head carefully before voicing it. "You snuck into the masked ball."

"I did."

"Just to dance? Or did you hope to, ah, meet someone and--"

Noctis blinks, looking startled, and then shakes his head. "I thought a kiss would be romantic, maybe? I didn't think I'd end up here."

"I see."

Noctis holds out both hands, and it's such a sweet, hopeful gesture that Ignis finds himself reaching out and taking them in his. "Glad I did."

That sentiment rather requires another kiss, a long and appreciative one.

Ignis is prepared to brew more coffee, to offer more food, when they break apart, but Noctis sighs heavily and immediately sets about reclaiming his clothes from Ignis's floor. "Gotta go shower and, uh, find a high-necked shirt or something," he says, sounding rueful, as he digs in the pockets of his trousers. "I'm free tomorrow? If you want one of those dates?"

"Absolutely."

They exchange numbers, and then a fully-dressed Noctis wraps his arms around Ignis's waist and presses the side of his face to Ignis's collarbone. "Don't go disappearing on me, okay? I _really_ want to see you again."

Ignis chuckles. "I believe you know where I live. How could I escape you?"

"Even so."

"Dinner, tomorrow," Ignis says. "I promise."

He helps Noctis tie on the feather mask, settles one of his most voluminous scarves -- in a lilac tiger-striped pattern that Noctis regards with obvious amusement -- in place to conceal the marks on Noctis's neck. Noctis examines himself in the mirror. "Okay. Good enough, right?"

"You're back to being an enigmatic stranger to all."

One more kiss, with Noctis's hands gentle on Ignis's upper arms, before he departs.

Ignis operates on autopilot for a while, straightening his bed, washing the crockery, returning his borrowed clothing carefully to the various hangers and containers it came in. And then, after setting another coffee down on the side-table, he sits down on his bed and lets himself fall over sideways onto the pillow.

The masked ball brought him a _prince_ , a prince who'd been funny and sexy and down-to-earth all at once. It seems a romantic fantasy beyond anything Ignis could ever have dreamt of.

And from here on, Ignis thinks, settling back onto his pillows, life seems likely to be anything but tedious, with a man like Noctis around.

Well then. Ignis picks up his coffee, and raises it high. "To the masked ball," he says, solemnly, as a toast to whatever invisible hand of fate led Noctis to him. "You couldn't possibly have bought me anyone finer."

**Author's Note:**

> Coda:
> 
> Noctis strolls into Cor's office, slows his steps a little, and then sinks dramatically into the chair opposite Cor. He tugs his scarf off, and tosses Ignis's mask on the desk. Cor regards Noctis for a moment, his gaze dropping to Noctis's neck for just a second, and then he stares at the mask on the table blankly.
> 
> "You've gotta help me, Cor," Noctis says, making his eyes as wide and guileless as he can. "I met this guy, and it was amazing, and all I have is a name and this mask, and you _have got to help me find him again_."
> 
> \---
> 
> (Poor Cor. :D)


End file.
